


Detox: Alternative Methods

by gracefultree



Series: Thought Experiments on House/Wilson Beginnings [3]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M, Wilson is a manipulative bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefultree/pseuds/gracefultree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House asks Wilson for a reason to detox from the pills.  Wilson has an interesting idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Detox: Alternative Methods

**Author's Note:**

> I'm starting a project where I can see how many different ways I can find to get House and Wilson together. I doubt I'll have one per episode, but each story is inspired by a specific episode or line.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” House asked as he entered Wilson’s office five minutes after Wilson left him in the dark, having admitted to being an addict. His voice sounded carefully neutral.  


Wilson looked up from his charting. He hadn’t expected House to figure it out so quickly, even with the intelligence and need to solve puzzles his friend had at his disposal. He put on his clueless voice. “Are we playing Guess the Topic again?”  


“You put Cuddy up to the bet,” House declared. He sat down on Wilson’s couch. “You set me up for that torture.”  


“House…”  


“Don’t lie, Wilson. You felt like you needed to teach me a lesson, and here we are. I’ve admitted I’m an addict. I’ll even admit that I’m miserable. But I’m not stopping the pills.”  


“I’m worried about you!” Wilson exclaimed, throwing down his pen and tossing the file back onto his desk. “I’m your friend, and I’m worried about you.”  


House scoffed. “A friend wouldn’t do that to another friend.”  


“Actually, that’s exactly what a friend would do. You see, there’s these things called ‘interventions’ that people like —“  


“Foreman gave me pills,” House blurted. “He told me to take the pills and do my job.”  


“And?”  


“I added them to my stash.”  


“And that’s just the kind of thing someone with a drug problem would say!” Wilson got to his feet and moved to the other side of his desk so he could walk back and forth in front of House. “And that you have a stash…”  


“I have several,” House corrected.  


“Several,” Wilson repeated. “Several?”  


“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get busted by the police,” House said in one of his sarcastic voices, complete with the eye-roll that implied Wilson was an idiot.  


“Do you want to kill yourself? Because that’s what’s going to happen. You’re trashing your liver, and no transplant committee in the continental United States will give you another!”  


“Aren’t you a prognosticator of joy and happiness today?” House snapped.  


“How did you know it was me?” Wilson asked after a few moments of tense silence.  


“Cuddy wouldn’t think to make that kind of bargain on her own. She’s not smart enough.”  


“Really, House. How did you know?” Wilson sat next to him. House looked away briefly.  


“You were distant all week.” House glanced back. “Usually you’d be all over me, checking up on me, showing up at my place with food, complaining about your wife. You haven’t been to my house in over a week. That tells me you’re hiding something, and the lack of talk means you feel guilty. You haven’t done anything to feel guilty about, so I assumed this was it.” Wilson nodded.  


“I’m sorry, House,” Wilson said softly. “I’m just worried.”  


House leaned back against the couch cushions. “Give me a reason.”  


“Huh?”  


“Give me one good reason I should stop,” House clarified. “Something that would matter to _me._ ”  


There was a long, pregnant pause. Wilson stood again, his back to House. “Tonight,” he said. “Eleven o’clock. I’ll come by your place.” He grabbed his coat and briefcase. House watched him go with dark eyes and a worried frown.  


.  


.  


.  


“Well?” Cuddy asked, stepping up behind Wilson at the central registration desk as he was signing out a last minute order on a patient’s chart.  


“He admitted that he’s an addict,” Wilson answered without looking up.  


“Admitting he has a problem —“  


“But he says it’s not a problem.”  


“And you believe him?” Cuddy’s voice was full of skepticism.  


“Of course not,” Wilson replied. “But he asked for a reason to stop taking the pills, and I have an idea that might work.”  


“Oh?”  


“I’m going to seduce him,” Wilson explained. “Then I’ll tell him we can’t have sex again until he gets the pills under control.” He looked up to see the shocked expression on her face. “What? Don’t tell me you’re surprised.”  


She closed her mouth. “No, it’s just — I never thought —“ She paused. “I never thought either of you would admit to wanting each other that way.” She seemed to wilt under Wilson’s hard stare. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it! There’s not! I —“  


“It’s ok, Cuddy,” Wilson said, patting her hand. “I never thought I’d admit it, either. But seeing him in such pain this last week… It was more than I could handle. I can’t sit back and let him do that to himself. I can’t watch him trash his liver. I can’t watch him slowly kill himself.”  


“He was in worse pain when he had the infarction,” she pointed out.  


“And I wasn’t going to take advantage of that,” Wilson said, his voice harsh. “I wouldn’t have been ready back then, anyway. I had to see what’s happened to him the last few years, how he’s changed. If he was still like he was before, I might not have said anything, but this has gone on long enough. He wasn’t addicted to pills back then.”  


“And he had Stacy,” Cuddy whispered.  


“Yeah.”  


“I’m glad he has you,” she said.  


“I only hope it works.”  


“Well, at least he doesn’t know that you suggested the detox,” she added cheerfully, turning away.  


“He knows,” Wilson said to her back. “That’s the other reason I’m taking this to Phase Two.”  


He handed over the patient file and left the hospital. He had things to prepare and excuses to make to his wife before he joined House. Not that Julie would say anything even if she knew what he intended to do; she already suspected he was sleeping with House, though she hadn’t been bold enough to say anything. Of course, he mused, she was sleeping with someone else, herself, so she didn’t exactly have a leg to stand on.  


.  


.  


.  


House played piano softly, not missing a note when Wilson quietly let himself into the apartment. House had spent the better part of two hours at the piano, wracking his brain for a reason Wilson could give him to stop taking pills. And why he’d have to wait until so late at night to give it to him. He slipped easily into one of Wilson’s favorite compositions, the one that House had written specifically for Wilson, though he’d never told Wilson it was for him.  


House missed a note when Wilson rested his hand on House’s back between his shoulder blades, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin on the back of House’s neck. He shivered and missed another note. Wilson never touched him. Not like this, not like anything. Not since that one drunken kiss ten years ago that they both agreed would never be acknowledged or repeated. Wilson’s hand moved, stroking up and down his back once before settling on his shoulder, the other hand resting on the other shoulder. He could feel the heat of Wilson’s body as he stepped up close behind him. He let the music trail off.  


“Don’t stop,” Wilson said softly in a wistful tone that sent House’s heart racing. “I love that song.”  


House began playing again, for once not mocking Wilson for his feelings. As he played, Wilson continued touching him. He undid the buttons of House’s button-down and ran his hands up House’s chest under his t-shirt. He tweaked his nipples. He scratched gently down House’s back, then more firmly when House gasped. A clatter of ivory keys and strange notes and Wilson pulled both of House’s shirts up over his head in a single motion, leaving him bare-chested.  


“Wilson?” House asked, his voice strangely hoarse.  


“Shhh,” Wilson answered. “Keep playing.” House turned back to the piano and started up again, curious. He’d always wondered if Wilson would break down and try to kiss him again, drunk or not. Maybe he was getting his answer? After a few minutes of ghosting his fingers and hands over House’s skin, Wilson reached into his pocket and produced a small bottle. He rubbed the lotion between his hands and began massaging House’s back and shoulders.  


_Oil,_ House thought, feeling his muscles start to relax under Wilson’s expert touch.  


House didn’t remember walking down the hall to his bedroom, or stripping off his clothing, or laying on the bed on top of a towel Wilson put down, but he remembered the sudden pained twitch as Wilson started massaging his right thigh. Wilson murmured softly, encouraging him to relax. He felt the pain slowly melting away under Wilson’s fingers.  


“When did you get so good at this?” he demanded quietly, not wanting to break up the silence but needing to know. He always needed to know. Wilson hadn’t offered to massage his leg in years, House realized, not since he and his wife started dating. It had been an almost daily occurrence post-infarction, post-Stacy, then it dwindled away.  


“I still have some tricks up my sleeves,” Wilson answered with a smile that bordered on a smirk. “Let go, House. Let me take care of you.”  


House nodded and with a sigh, gave himself over to Wilson’s ministrations.  


.  


.  


.  


The pain of his thigh woke House, as usual. He groaned and reached for the Vicodin bottle, not finding it on his nightstand. He sat up on his elbows. Movement next to him made him freeze in surprise. Wilson blinked sleepily at him. He was dressed in a t-shirt and boxers, and had been dozing with his head on one of House’s spare pillows.  


“Pain?” Wilson asked.  


House bit back the snarl that threatened, because the concern in Wilson’s expression didn’t have pity in it, just curiosity. Besides, Wilson was in his bed. He’d wanted Wilson in his bed for years, though he’d never have suggested it himself. Too much opportunity for rejection and hurt if he suggested it. House mumbled a yes.  


“Ok, just give me a minute.” Wilson climbed out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom. House spent the next few minutes wondering what Wilson was up to. He’d never crawled into House’s bed before, despite the hints and innuendoes House threw at him on a regular basis. Wilson returned with the bottle of oil. Without saying anything more, he started massaging House’s thigh again.  


“It won’t work this time,” House grumbled. “Haven’t had a pill since before you got here.”  


Wilson’s eyes flickered over to the bedside clock. “What time?”  


“Ten-thirty.”  


“Five hours, ten minutes,” Wilson commented. “Think you can wait fifty more?”  


“No,” House barked, closing his eyes. The pain was getting steadily worse, and he’d be sweating soon on top of it all. “Get me my damned pills!” he ordered.  


Wilson made a noise of some kind, then moved. He didn’t leave the bed, however, nor did House hear the rattle of the pill bottle.  


“Wilson,” House growled.  


“Easy, let’s try this,” Wilson said in his ‘let’s try this fun thing that only I will find fun because House will probably hate it’ voice. House hated that voice, too. Then Wilson licked a broad stripe along House’s dick and House didn’t hate him quite as much.  


“Wilson!” House exclaimed, startled.  


Wilson didn’t answer, his mouth already full with House’s rapidly hardening penis.  


_Damn, he’s good,_ House thought, his mind already detaching from the pain to focus on the wonderful sensations in his groin. _Wonder where he picked this up?_  


House drifted in the hazy afterglow, vaguely aware of Wilson moving around. He’d returned to the bathroom and taken care of himself privately, though House wondered if he’d have helped out if he’d been a little more with it after his orgasm. _Maybe next time,_ he mused. He certainly wasn’t repulsed by the idea of giving Wilson a hand- or blowjob, and if he’d been any younger or healthier, he might have even wanted more than that, but it was past the time of his life when he’d be up to anything more energetic with men than what he already got tonight. They always required more physicality than the women he’d been with, and the hookers were satisfied with whatever he wanted because he paid them. No, sex with Wilson wasn’t going to happen. He sighed sadly, wondering why Wilson had never come on to him before the infarction when his body was whole and he could do something about it.  


Wilson crawled back into bed and seemed to be settling himself down to sleep, curling himself up against House’s good side. He kissed House’s chest and closed his eyes. House allowed himself to drift a while longer until the pain flared again. He nudged Wilson.  


“Wilson, my pills.”  


“Oh, right,” Wilson muttered, producing two pills. House was about to toss them in his mouth when Wilson spoke again. “You’d better swallow those if you want me to kiss you. I’m not into that bitter Vicodin aftertaste.”  


House blinked in surprise. “Um…”  


“There’s water on the nightstand. Drink at least half the bottle.”  


House did as he was told and lay down. As promised, Wilson kissed him, a passionate kiss that wetted his appetite for more. Wilson made him finish the water before kissing him again and then decided it was time to sleep. House stole another kiss, but Wilson wouldn’t let him have any more after that, to his disappointment.  


.  


.  


.  


The shrilling of Wilson’s alarm woke him and House immediately reached for his pills. They still weren’t on his nightstand. Wilson turned off the horrible sound.  


“Where’re my —“  


“Don’t you want a kiss first?” Wilson asked sweetly in a seductive voice Wilson had never used with him before.  


It had been years since House had woken up with someone in his bed willing to kiss him, and he decided not to miss the opportunity. One kiss led to two, and Wilson’s hand found his cock, and before he knew it, Wilson was preparing him and making love to him gently and slowly and at a pace and rhythm his body could handle. He’d never expected Wilson to be into men, let alone as into it as he was demonstrating, thrusting into House with slick, sure motions and finding the right angle to hit his prostate with a minimal bit of experimentation.  


_Bonnie was right,_ House thought. _Wilson’s really good in bed._  


He allowed Wilson to cuddle with him after their orgasms, then allowed Wilson to shower with him. They got dressed separately, though the looks between them were more heated than they’d ever been, even in the days following that one drunken kiss when they hadn’t decided to avoid the topic for the rest of their lives.  


“You want to ride in with me or take your bike?” Wilson asked over coffee and toast, the only thing he’d been able to scrounge up in House’s understocked kitchen.  


“Bike needs a rest,” House mumbled, not willing to admit that he liked this new side of Wilson, the caring, considerate side he probably showed his wives the first few years and his girlfriends as long as they lasted. He wondered how long Wilson would treat _him_ this way. Somehow, Wilson’s cloying need to care for him was easier to take after a few orgasms. No doubt it would pale, but for now, House was willing to accept it.  


The ride to work was filled with their usual banter. They walked into the hospital side-by-side, and no one commented, because they did that so often that it wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. Their shoulders bumped a few times as they made their way to their offices, though, again, not more than usual. House followed Wilson into his office and closed the door behind him. Wilson quirked a bushy eyebrow at him.  


“Kiss?” House asked. “Then my pills? That’s how we’re doing it, right?”  


Wilson stepped forward and kissed him deeply. He placed the bottle of Vicodin in House’s hand. “Come back when you’re ready to detox and find a new pain management strategy,” he said. “Then we’ll do this again.”  


“What?” House demanded, backing away a step, his hand tightening to a fist around the pill bottle. “What the fuck, Wilson?”  


“Last night you asked for a reason to stop the pills. I’ve just given you one.”  


“What?” House asked again. For some reason his brain wasn’t working properly. He couldn’t see what Wilson meant.  


“You were able to wait over six hours between doses last night,” Wilson said. “You haven’t had one yet this morning, which makes it just about the same amount of time. You can do it, House. I’m just giving you a little incentive.”  


“Wait. You’re saying that you seduced me like that to _deny_ me? Are you nuts?”  


“I seduced you to try to give you something worth stopping the pills for,” Wilson corrected. “We’ve been edging in this direction for years. I knew there was no way you’d make the first move, so I had to. I decided to use it to my advantage.”  


“Using sex to get me to stop the pills helps you, how?”  


“For one thing, you’ll be able to get it up more often without the Vicodin,” Wilson said, waving a hand.  


“And?”  


“And maybe you’ll be less of an asshole to me without the drugs.”  


“Using sex to put me in a better mood I understand,” House replied. “Using it to manage my pills is manipulative and downright nasty.”  


“That’s why it’ll work,” Wilson said, a full-blown smirk on his face. “You appreciate manipulative and nasty. I’m still trying to figure out if it turns you on.”  


House growled. He wasn’t sure yet, either. “What about a middle ground?” he asked after a minute.  


“What are you proposing?”  


“Vicodin as prescribed,” House said. “Two pills, four times a day. With sex as an incentive.”  


“You’ll have to get rid of your stashes,” Wilson said. “I’m going to comb through your apartment and office to confiscate any extra.”  


House glared at him. Wilson put his hands on his hips and met his gaze.  


“I won’t budge on that,” Wilson said.  


“Will you throw it away, or keep it?”  


Wilson paused, considering. “I’ll keep some of it, for breakthrough pain. But not all of it.”  


“I get to decide how much you keep. And you have to tell me where it is.”  


“If you use it without my permission, the deal’s off.”  


“As long as I know where it is,” House said. “A psychological crutch, so to speak. If I know it’s there, I have the illusion that I can use it if I need it. I won’t resent you as much.” He paused. “And if I resent you too much, I’ll stop wanting to do you.”  


Wilson nodded decisively. “We’ll try it your way for six months,” he said. “If it works, we can keep it up. If it doesn’t…” He let his voice trail off. “We’ll need to think of another way.”  


House opened the bottle in his hand, poured out two pills and dry-swallowed them. He handed the bottle back to Wilson. “I’ll think about it.”  


“Next dose is at quarter of four,” Wilson said, putting the bottle in his pocket after a glance at his watch. “I should be here. I have appointments all day, but I can take a few minutes then.”  


“Make it four,” House said. “If I decide to do this, that’ll put me on schedule for a dose at ten.”  


“Ten and four?” Wilson asked. “You want to get up at 4am to take your pills?”  


“The pain will wake me up like it usually does,” House muttered nonchalantly. “Though if you tire me out like you did this morning, I might just sleep through the night,” House said with a wink.  


“Somehow I doubt it,” Wilson mumbled.  


“If it wakes me at four, I take it at four. If it wakes me at five, I take it at five and we revise the schedule.”  


“I’d like to get you on a six and twelve schedule.”  


“Convenient. But my pain isn’t.” House stepped forward and gave Wilson a quick peck on the lips. “See you later,” he said, then disappeared out the door. Wilson smiled after him. He picked up his phone.  


“Cuddy, Phase Two is in place,” he declared. “I’ll let you know how it works out.”  


On the other end of the phone, Cuddy wished him luck.  



End file.
